


national anthem

by grattiss12



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mashton, Sad, Sad Ending, it has a Great Gatsby vibe, like a lot, michael loves ashton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 02:44:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4462436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grattiss12/pseuds/grattiss12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>tell me I'm your national anthem</p>
<p>or  where Michael is rich on love, Ashton is just rich, and sometimes money can’t buy everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	national anthem

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by the book the great gatsby/the song National Anthem by lana del rey (the italicized rhyming parts are lyrics) this is kind of sad srry.
> 
> (this is honestly trash)

Michael’s voice is low and soft; the steady rhythm of the drums beating deep in his chest. He sways gently, hips moving side to side in the pace he’s grown to know so well; he keeps his hands wrapped around the base of the microphone and looks out on the audience with hooded eyes. Young couples sway slowly on the dance floor as men in dark suits stand on the sides with their lit cigarettes, blowing smoke into the air. There’s a red haze that sits heavily over the room and it makes Michael feel like he’s in a dream; he thinks that if he could touch this moment it would be soft and thick like velvet.

A pair of hazel eyes cut through the haze and run their way up and down the length of Michael’s body; the man stands near the bar nursing a glass of something Michael can only assume is scotch and continues to watch his hips move. He smiles when he meets his eyes but doesn’t look away like Michael expects, instead he raises the glass to his lips and keeps their eyes locked together until the set ends.

Michael steps off the stage on the kind of high only performing can give him and takes the offered glass of champagne from a nearby waiter. The atmosphere intensifies when Michael immerses himself in it and he can feel money radiating off the walls; everyone in this room is dripping wealth like honey and Michael wants to saturate himself in it, wants to carry the scent around for days.

A hand comes to rest on the small of his back, curving around his waist ever so slightly;

“You have a lovely voice,” Hazel Eyes makes the elite in this room look like blue collar workers. Michael wonders what his sheets are made of.

“What’s your name love?” His hand travels in little circles around Michael’s spine, creeping lower and lower with each loop until it comes to rest on the curve of his hip.

“Michael,” he looks up at Hazel Eyes through his lashes, moving in closer and enveloping himself in the smell of expensive cologne and cigarettes.

“I’m Ashton Irwin. Can I buy you a drink Michael?” Two fingers drum on his hip and Michael nods in response, humming a little as Ashton guides him to the bar.

The next hours fly by in a blur of drinks and hands on thighs and Michael is spinning in a hazy red room.

Ashton’s sheets are made of silk.

***

_Money is the anthem of success; so before we go out, what’s your address?_

***

Ashton is all hands and teeth; Michael learns this early. His fingers always find a place on Michael’s body, whether they’re running up and down the length of his spine, or resting on the soft curve of his thigh. There are angry red marks sucked onto Michael’s collarbones and neck that he can never quite cover with the collar of his shirt; they say _if lost, return to owner_ ; they say _this is mine_.

Michael’s never had a problem with belonging to someone; belonging to someone means safety; it means warm hands and dark rooms and sloppy kisses to his neck. It’s different with Ashton though, when they’re together Michael doesn’t feel safe; far from it. Ashton lives fast, his days passing in a technicolor blur of parties and money and imported champagne and Michael finds himself being pulled into it. Michael’s used to fast living, but this feels different somehow.

***

_Happy birthday to you_ , Michael’s voice is soft like velvet; _happy birthday to you_ , Michael’s knees are on either side of Ashton’s waist; _happy birthday dear Ashton_ , Ashton’s hands find their way to Michael’s hips; _happy birthday-_ , Michael doesn’t finish the song.

***

People in the streets talk about Ashton in hushed tones and heated whispers.

_Rich by 23?_ They’ll say. _You can’t trust new money._

Ashton invites these people to parties and tries to wash the bad taste he leaves in their mouths out with expensive champagne; money can’t buy everything.

Michael tells him this one night, tucked in a corner of the room away from the socialites’ dancing and drinking.

“Why not?” Ashton’s eyes are dark. “It bought you.”

Michael wants to say something, wants to push Ashton out of the way and tell him his warranty expired, but he doesn’t. Ashton leaves him in the corner, eyes stinging with tears he refuses to shed.

A man interrupts the music to wish Ashton a happy 23rd birthday and the room erupts in applause; Michael watches as Ashton plasters on a fake smile and raises his glass to the man, as if his speech meant more to him than a fleeting moment of recognition.

_Money_ , Michael thinks, _can’t buy everything._

***

_Tell me I’m your national anthem_

***

Ashton has Michael pressed into the bed by his hips, lips and teeth pressing harshly against his collarbone, Michael tangles his fingers in Ashton’s hair.

“Tell me you love me,” Michael gasps as Ashton’s lips make his way up his neck.

“I love you,” It doesn’t need to be true for him to believe it.

***

_I sing the national anthem while I am standing over your body, hold you like a python; and you can’t keep your hands off me._

***  

_“Over the land of the free, and the home of the brave_ ,” Michael is on stage and this feels like that first night again. Ashton stands with a group of investors, eyes dark and gaze heavy as he watches Michael finish the last lyrics of the national anthem.

Michael steps off the stage as the MC for the event takes his place; he catches Ashton’s eye from across the room and winks, swaying his hips a little as Ashton tries to listen to the conversation the investors are having.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Michael slips behind the curtain just as Ashton catches his wrist with his long fingers.

“Where’re you going, baby?” Michael pulls him into the darkness, attaching their lips together harshly. Ashton’s hand slips around the back of his neck and the kiss deepens.

“You look so good up there, baby,” Ashton’s other hand trails down to his hipbone, “Always look so good,” Michael dips his head and starts leaving small kisses along Ashton’s exposed throat.

“Can we party later on?” Michael looks up through his lashes; and Ashton nods.

“Yes, baby, anything you want, yes, yes.”

***

_It’s a love story for the new age, for the sixth page, we’re on a quick sick rampage. Wining and dining, drinking and driving, excessive buying, overdose and dying._

***

Michael used to say he was a lot of things; he was a singer, he was an american, he was a boy. Now he says he’s Ashton’s; Ashton’s singer, Ashton’s american, Ashton’s boy. Michael spends his days walking on a high strung tightrope made from diamonds and silk, waiting for the day to come when he falls off. He thinks he’s prepared for the impact; Ashton’s mouth was like danger since the very first night and Michael has grown accustomed to the taste.

He knows this can only end the way it started; fast and without warning, but he’ll stay balanced as long as he can.

Loving Ashton often feels like loving the sea; Michael wants to be with him always, but he can’t control the tide. If Michael were to ask Ashton what it was like to love him, he is sure he wouldn’t get an answer; when Ashton looks at Michael he sees ownership; possession. Michael has learnt that this is the way Ashton loves things.

Money can’t buy everything.

***

Michael didn’t realize Ashton was on the tightrope with him until he fell off first.

***

_New money never lasts._ They shake their heads in shame and fake sorrow, clad in black suits and dresses as if the colour of mourning can make them care more. _Dead at 23? What a shame._

Michael stands at the back and bites his lip until it bleeds, he leaves before they lower the casket into the ground.

***

 

_He was charismatic, magnetic, electric, and everybody knew him._

_He was like this hybrid, a mix of a man who couldn’t contain himself._

_I always got the sense that he became torn between being a good person and missing out on all of the opportunities that life could offer a man as magnificent as him._

_And in that way, I understood him._

_And I loved him, I loved him, I loved him._

_And I still love him, I love him._

  
  



End file.
